When the Moon Rises
by indiansummerchild
Summary: They hadn't deserved a second chance, yet someone up above had provided one. Through the darkness, they had escaped the ruins of Gotham City and found peace back in the mountains they had once called home. Yet nothing would ever be the same. - A turn in events when Bane and Talia escape, and begin a difficult life after their failed attempts to destroy Gotham. BANExTALIA
1. When the Moon Rises

**Now, this is my very first fan fiction, so please be kind. **

**I was looking through all of the lovely Bane x Talia fan fictions on here, and I didn't find any that explored the idea of them possibly escaping. I feel like there was plenty of room for them to have possibly survived, so here is the beginning of my exploration on the notion. **

**Rated M for some future smut. **

**Please leave some feedback! It would be greatly appreciated!**

**These lovely characters do not belong to me, as much as I wish they did...  
**

* * *

_- When the Moon Rises -_

"Hell froze over."

"What?" Gordon glanced up at the blonde officer standing before him.

The clipboard against the young officer's chest lifted a fraction as he stood straighter. "I said hell froze over, Commissioner."

Gordon nodded slowly and looked back down.

It was over.

The chaos, the fear, the false hope. The schemes of destruction had collapsed within itself, leaving the city in a blanket of rubble and despondent exhaustion. Despite rumor of a second uprising, an army being formed from the lesser class' resentment towards being forced back into their previous situations, order had found it's way back into the city, and they quietly began to pick themselves back up.  
The mayor had crawled out from hiding, requesting that James Gordon did not turn in his notice until the city was back on it's feet, and reluctantly, he had agreed.

He remained, simply to honor the life of his fallen ally, his fallen friend.

The Batman.

He considered that maybe this had been a good thing, in a morbid sense. Possibly, the powers that be had allowed Gotham a second chance, the opportunity to rebuild itself from the filth it had wallowed in. It was a haunting thought, causing Gordon's stomach to churn, yet he found it better than simply accepting that it had been pointless- the lives lost being nothing but lost in vain.  
He refused to accept it.

This was a moment of rebirth, a moment of ideals and aspirations finding their way back into the future of Gotham city. A new start, a new beginning.

The hulking creature that had attempted to destroy it had failed. His tries had been fruitless. The people of Gotham had proved themselves worthy yet again, and contentment stirred in the citizens' souls once more. They were a nation of steadfast hope, they were survivors.  
And the fall of countless lives had not been in vain.

Gordon was careful to step over them. They were precious, precious losses.

They had once been beautiful, they had once been whole. Yet now they laid in outstretching lines, filling the air with the scent of sorrows, the smell of death. They had been identified, titles zip tied to the white bags they had been carefully slipped into. Identified and numbered, and Gordon refused to know what the count had been.

He bent down, taking a tag in his hand to read the name.

_Camille Brand  
_

Reaching up, he brushed the lap of snow that had formed in a crease around the neck area, pulling back the white cloth to view the face beneath. And a deep ache formed in his chest, weighing heavy in his heart, at the sight of the lovely young lady's face. Her black hair was matted and clumped with frozen blood and ice, her face lacking all traces of any color that once existed in the delicate curves of her features.

"Not in vain," he whispered, and folded the cloth back over her lovely face, allowing her to rest free from disruption, allowing her to lay in peace once more.

Not in vain.

"Commissioner?"

Jim stood up and away from the mass of bodies, meeting the officer that had called for him.

"We've done a body count and have identified everyone found within the three mile radius, but..." he paused, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Gordon's soul was at peace, despite the disaster that surrounded him, laying cluttered at his feet. Gotham had survived, and they were left to count their dead in peace.

"But the bodies of Miss Miranda Tate and the man called Bane were never found."

Gordon's brow creased deeply, confusion rising in his eyes and fear knotting in his chest. Yet he pushed it aside, and dismissed the information with a nod of acknowledgement. He watched as the officer walked away, weaving between the rows of bodies lying across the lap of Gotham snow.

"While we survive..." Gordon whispered in the air, watching as his words formed into a plume of smoke around his face.  
"Let them find peace... in their own way."

* * *

"Wake up."

His eyes snapped open, waking with a rough jolt. Instinct told him to attack, yet the voice that had met his ears had been a familiar one. One that had been the solitary source of comfort throughout the years that he had known it.

It was the voice of deep, melancholy waters, the rush of excitement always lingering in the delicate pitch. It was the voice that was a guiding light through the hell and damnation that had been his home for longer than he could recall, the voice that caused his soul to overflow with meaning.

It was the voice that had cried out for him when in need, the voice that laughed with him in times of contentment, the voice that broke when he was in pain. He knew it like he knew himself. Knew the rise and fall of it like he knew the rise and fall of the mountains they had lived in together for years. He understood the meaning behind each fragile sound, every inhale and exhale.

He had spent every night simply observing the pattern of breathing, the quiet mumbles that arose while in slumber, the frantic cries when terror had slipped into subconscious realities. For numerous years he had repeated the same words, shaking shoulders to deliver release from frightening dreams.

"Wake up."

He turned his head to look at the being curled against his side.

"I'm cold," she whispered, her delicate lips pressing the words out from behind chattering teeth.  
He said nothing as he tucked her firmly beneath his arm, reaching across his own chest to grasp her beneath the knee and hook her leg over his waist. She fit perfectly against his sturdy side, her inner thigh pressing comfortably into his hip cavity. Her hand snaked its way over his chest and she pulled herself as tightly against him as humanly possible, absorbing the radiating body heat that she had sought.

The remained silent as they laid beneath the darkness that coated them, listening to the peculiar sounds that sounded off faintly. The lulling drips and deep and rustic bellows of pipes, the clouded rush of water streaming through tunnels in the far off distance. They rested to the sound of the quiet lullaby of Gotham's heart beat as they found a haven beneath the surface of the earth.

"Will we die here, my friend?" she whispered to him, her fingers skimming over the bandages that decorated his large chest.  
His hand found hers, swallowing it within his large and heated palm. He pulled it up to his collar, leaning his head back, and pressing her fingers against his neck, an invitation. She massaged the rough flesh of his neck, where the metal mask met his flesh, a place that was often sore.

"Only if you wish it, my child," he answered, his voice a metallic sound that resonated deeply within the cement tunnel that they had crawled into, tight around their frames, yet offering them protection and comfort.

She shook her head against his chest, lifting her fingers higher to examine the mounds and crevices of his mask with the tips of her fingers. "I do not."

"Then we shall survive," he breathed, shutting his eyes when her finger tips found the flesh of his face. Her hands danced like moth wings against his cheek bone, kissing his skin lightly with the tips of her fingers. "And we shall make haste when the moon rises, and find freedom within the protection of darkness."

"As we always have," she whispered as she brushed her touch over his closed eyes.

"As we always have," he repeated, pulling her tighter against his broad frame. "And as we always will."

* * *

**I know this was terribly short, but I whipped it out in an hour. So please be kind! And I'm terribly sorry if there are any spelling errors.**

**Thanks! :)**


	2. From the Ashes

**Oh, my! Thank you to those who have followed, favorited, and left feedback! My heart is resounding with love for you fine souls! Certainly motivation to continue on, and as quickly as possible. Please, continue to pass along input and love. It is greatly appreciated and adored. :)**

**Anyways, I must tell you... I have taken on the difficult feat of writing more from Bane's point of view. Despite the fact that it will always be written in third person, I intend to focus more on what goes on in the gorgeous beast's mind, rather than Talia's. So enjoy!**

**Once again, all character's belong to the glorious DC Comics, not me.**

* * *

~ From the Ashes ~

_Bane had waited patiently all year, watching the sky for signs of freedom. Watched as the seasons rolled relentlessly in, and quietly out, leaving behind knots of anxiety in his chest. He had waited all year for the opportune moment to climb._

_It was far more difficult now that he had a second soul bound to his. Yet never in his entire life that had played out in the recesses of The Pit had he been so entirely determined to taste the world up above. It was a painful anxiety as he watched the men clamber up the stone walls, examining each failure with thoughtful eyes. He took mental notes, perfecting his technique within his mind, all the while waiting for his moment to rise._

_Autumn. That's what he was waiting for. For the ice of winter to pass, the precipitation of spring to pass, the dryness of summer to pass. In the winter, the stones of the wall were iced and slippery, providing little support while climbing. In the spring, the Maker turned on the pipes from heaven, and it poured cruelly for weeks on end, allowing no one to climb. And when the rain had ceased, it left the stones drenched without any grip for the desperate men that crawled towards the light. In the summer, dust coated the walls and the heat was unbearable. Men found no grasp, their fingers slipping from the dust and plummeting to their death._

_Yet in the fall, the weather straddled between hot and cold, yet the air was moist with the approaching winter. By then the dust would have passed and the rains wouldn't descend for another two months. It was the ideal time to rise._

_"Shall we pack for the trip?" Talia questioned, standing beside the brass door of their shared cell._

_He looked up at the meager creature from where he crouched, tearing a square of a rag into long strips. She waited quietly, her animal-like fingers prying absentmindedly at the lock of the door. She stared at him expectantly, excitement underlining her outrageously deep blue eyes._

_Standing up, he shook his head. "No. I fear that I will not be able to carry it up," he answered, scooping her up into his arms, like he often did. "When we rise, you shall catch our food, my little huntress. And we shall dine like royalty, in the radiant sunlight of the world above," he smiled, lifting her slightly so she could crawl over his shoulder._

_She laced her arms around his neck and her legs locked around his wide ribcage, clinging tightly like a leech. "What is royalty?" she questioned as they left the cell._

_"The people who placed us here, my darling," he answered._

_"Shall I hunt them? When we rise?" she asked, and though he couldn't see her face, he could hear a smile form in her words, feel it against his neck where she had pressed her narrow cheek. "I may kill them, and then they shall be sorry that they placed us here. They'll be sorry then."_

_He laughed lightly, the sound rumbling against her chest, as he eyed the prisoners that watched them with hooded eyes. "Instead, why don't we place them here and overthrow their thrones? Make them long for their own demise while we enjoy the luxuries that they once occupied. Then they shall be sorry."_

_They rounded the corner of a cell, the platform to the ropes coming into view. There was a small gathering of men at the base, heads turned up towards the heavens, watching as a lean prisoner scrambled up the wall. He felt Talia stiffen against his back slightly, perking up at the sight of the man climbing towards the light. And his walking ceased so they could watch, both of their heads turned up to look at the sullen creature crawling upwards in desperation._

_The men on the platform chanted loudly, their voices rising as the man rose, echoing loudly through out the Pit. He was drawing closer to the lip of the pit with every passing second, his pace quickening as the excitement filled his fragile frame._

_"What does demise mean?" she whispered, intently focused on the climbing creature._

_Bane held his breath, watching as the man reached for a stone, lost his grip, and plummeted back to the earth. His figure descended quickly, his arms and legs flailing desperately while he let out a shrill scream of terror. Bane knew what the man's fate was, judging by his small build and lack of bodily padding, and inevitably, when he reached the bottom, a loud crack snapped through the air. And then man's cries ceased, and he hung limply, his bones loose within his sorry body._

_"End," Bane answered softly, reaching up to grasp her hands, locked around his neck tightly, within his palm. "It means end."_

* * *

He had told everyone he wasn't coming back to the force, said he couldn't handle it. He had turned in his uniform, received his last few checks, and personally informed Commissioner Gordon that he was done.

Gordon was understanding, nodding and humming in agreement when he had given him his reasons for leaving. He had apologized when for his judgement when Gordon was publicly humiliated for the Harvey Dent story.

"You were right, Commissioner," he had said, handing him his badge. "Society needs a hero that will take our shit... But I need one that will push me to do the right thing, to point out my flaws. To tell me to take up his mantle."

Gordon had frowned in confusion, yet had pocketed the badge and shook his hand.  
"And you're certain about this, John?" he had asked, pausing on his way out of the room.

John Blake had nodded, smiled and said, "Entirely."

And in that moment, he was entirely sure of himself. In that moment, he didn't know where he was bound to end up, but he was taking a leap of faith. And he had been prepared for what fate was to bring him.

John Blake climbed the stairs of the MCU, pressing in to the building. Entering the lobby, he glanced around at the reconstruction of the area. New drywall had been pinned up, currently being textured and painted, while destroyed electricity lines were being rewired.

Gotham was reverting back to it's glory, rebuilding itself at a pleasant velocity. Roads were patched up, buildings rebuilt, new trees planted. And many, many memorials now decorated the city, paying respect to the fallen.

But despite the beauty of the city, Blake knew better. It was a graveyard, a cemetery, harboring past stories of horrors and destruction. Of madmen running rampant, of terrorists and of criminals, fears and losses. Also of courage and triumph, victories and freedom. Gotham city still stood, still thrived. It limped along, baring wounds of honor. It had earned it's stripse, yet at the cost of many lives.

Blake was done with it.

He had decided to leave, to find his own rebirth. The notion of starting fresh was too desirable, and he had opted to take that route. He had returned to the MCU to pick up a handful of his last belongings before heading out of the city.

"Detective Blake," Gordon greeted when Blake entered into his office.

"Oh," John said with a startle. "I didn't know you were still here. I just came by to pick up the last of my belongings," he explained, shutting the office door behind him. "Do you mind?"

"No, no," Gordon said with a smile, gesturing for him to enter. "Please, come in."

John thanked him and proceeded to dig through his vacant desk, placing his items within the walls of a cardboard box.

"Leaving Gotham, hmm?" the Commissioner hummed, flipping through a few criminal files, signing things off.

Blake paused, placing the box on his previous desk. "Um, yea," he muttered, rubbing out his creased forehead. "Going to start new, I suppose... I tend to believe that we have all been given a second chance. I'm just taking up this opportunity before it's gone... Gotham isn't meant to be my dwelling place..."

Gordon nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Where are you headed?"

"I'm not sure yet," Blake answered, brushing back his thick, black hair. "But I'll find out when I get there."

Silence fell over them as Gordon continued to work at his desk, occasionally sipping at a mug of coffee idling on his desk. Blake tugged open drawers, dumping his belongings into his filling cardboard box. Old photos, stacks of ink pens bound in rubber bands, the occasional cigarette from before he broke the damned habit.

He stared down at the few cigarettes tossed within the box, instantly yearning for one. The stress had been killing him, and time after time had he desired to take up the addiction once more, if only for a moment of peace. Reaching down, he plucked one from the bottom of the box and pulled it up to examine it.

A vessel of relaxation, or a damning fate. Some days he was unsure, yet his aspirations had remained the same for years... That he would overcome his personal demons, and that he would live as selfless as humanly possible. He hadn't earned the life he had obtained, instead he was given it. He was given the hope to drive to something better, given the opportunity to rebuild his life in a way that matters.

This was his second chance.

He gathered the remaining cigarettes and tossed them into the rubbish bin residing beside his desk. He froze, the cigarettes rolling past a rolled newspaper within the bin. Pulling the newspaper free, he unrolled it to stare at the bold headline.

**THE DEMON FROM THE SEWER'S BODY NEVER FOUND**

Beneath the title was printed a blurry shot of the beast named Bane, his arms outstretched while in the midst of giving a corrupted speech.

Blake's face dropped as he read the article, tension forming in his chest and anger rising in his skull. His upper lip twitched with rage, his hands crumpling the paper as his body began to shake.

Sometimes fate pushed and pulled, taking you one place only to drag you to the next. In this case, fate had pushed Blake forward, only to pull him back. It had been made clear to him, finally. A hero once requested that he might take up his mantle, to pull on the cowl and play his part in protecting his sacred city.

And that meant finishing a job that was left untied.

* * *

They had slipped out, shrouded in darkness, crossing through the sewers that tunneled deep within the earth. They had surfaced near the shore of the island, rising from the ground, entering darkness from darkness.

Bane had grasped her hand and they ran through the tunnel that burrowed beneath the ocean, reaching the other end, greeted by the faint light of the infant hours of the morning. They quietly crossed the threshold of the city, departing from the foul air of Gotham and back into a simple world.

It was a simple task, hijacking a small plane and flying back to Indonesia, to where the League of Shadows had once resided.

"We will start again," Talia called through the blistering wind that beat furiously against their weakened frames. Bane trudged a few steps ahead of her, his boots forming deep prints in the snow for her to gracefully step into.

The landscape was a sea of white, surrounding them further than the human eye could see. The usual line of where the horizon met the surface of the earth was nonexistent, and their destination was a grueling two days climb.

They were returning to the League's fortress, perched upon the peak of destitute mountains. Talia had said that the remainder of her father's troops awaited them there, prepared for orders. Despite his argument of their abandonment, she had persisted, insisting that they still lingered. And reluctantly, he had agreed to return with her.

"From the ashes, we will rise and form a new alliance, and regain power. And my father's work will be completed, as we desire," she continued, her voice raised to meet his ears.

He pulled his coat tighter around his thick shoulders, trudging forward without response to her enthused notions. The wind bit into the exposed skin of his face, forming ice against his eyelashes as he attempted to view his approaching landscape.

"As we desire..." he repeated silently, mulling over the words. Subtle resentment sprung forth in his thoughts, yet he held silent, despite the need to lash out at her.

He was a selfish being, and never considered himself otherwise. He strove to better himself, to please himself, to find the contentment that was always just a finger's length away from his outstretched arms. What he did, he did for his own pride, his own honor, his own emotional well-being. And that was how it had always been...

When he realized that she was the other half to his whole.

He was a selfish being, because he strove to please her, to hand her the contentment that she desired to flourish in. It was her honor, her emotional well-being, and the smile of pride that crossed her face when she looked upon him was what reassured the notion that he was hers, and she was his.

Yet the man named Ra's Al Ghul was just as much apart of him as a stranger was to Talia. He had no connections, no feelings to the beast that had cast him out. Ra's had clothed him, fed him, provided him release from the pain that he had lingered in for years after Talia had risen from hell. Yet the man's drive was his young daughter's request.

The idea of fulfilling her father's objectives was a revolting conception, causing his stomach to churn in hatred. He had despised the man, even before his dismissal, snarling behind his mask when the man would whisk Talia away from him.

And when he had passed, Bane had allowed his utter hatred for the man to pass as well, burying it beside the corpse. Yet Talia had dug them both up, and she was apart of him as he was apart of her, and her desires became his, and he met her requests.

But not again.

"I will not succumb to your father's desires yet again, Talia," he said, turning to face her, narrowing his eyes to view her through the furious wind.

She stopped in her tracks, pulling the cloth wrapped securely around her face down a fraction to better see him. Her cheeks were raw from the iced wind, her lips a faint shade of blue, and her large eyes widened at his words. "What ever do you mean, my dear friend?"

The wind whistled loudly through the mountains, a haunting song of the souls that had once ruled the rocks. The earth groaned in protest as the weather grew harsh and the south spat daggers of ice. Bane was a creature of deep heat, flourishing in the brutal temperature, while Talia was a fragile being, bundled in enormous coats.

Yet despite the many layers of clothing that smothered her lean frame, she was a goddess of beauty, and he despised her for that.

"You are an imprudent child, folly and caught up in the sick games of false realities. Acceptance of defeat is not honorable, but a battle for foolish ideas is just as damning," he spoke, his voice rattling behind the cage of metal around his mouth. "Your nobility is admirable, my dear child. But your stupidity overpowers it."

Through the thick wind, he could see her jaw tighten and her hands clench around the fabric around her neck that she held. "Are you leaving me?" she asked quietly, and he was barely able to make out her voice over the roar of flowing ice.

He chuckled, it bellowing deep in his chest. "Are you so naive to think I would stay with you and chase after your father's conceptions once again? I am a man of selfish desires, and no longer wish to be caught up with your ideas of misplaced destruction. Carry out your father's wishes else where. Have you not toyed with fate enough?"

"No," she snapped, fury visibly rising in her features. "I have a duty. Leave me if you wish."

Bane held still, staring at the women standing proudly before him. She was his accomplishment, his making. She was the creature he had spent half of his life protecting. Her body was the one that he had fed when his stomach groaned with hunger, her clothes that he had cleaned while rotting in his own filth. She was the one that he had given up the little comfort he had for, the one that he had lifted to the skies to rise. The one that was the reason why he wore a cage of metal around his face, keeping his agony at bay.

She was the one he willingly laid down his life for, every day.

* * *

_Bane swallowed hard, watching from a distance as the men untied the deceased prisoner from the rope, his body distorted and bent in inhuman ways. The men stripped the corpse of his clothing and tossed him into a corner that was filled with the stench of death, a place dedicated to the deceased beings._

_"Are you afraid?" she whispered into his back, also watching as the men threw the corpse away._

_"No, my child," he answered, crouching down onto his knee so that she could climb off of his back. "I know what he did wrong," he said with a smile, pulling her around to face him. "He climbed too fast, too eager to escape. You must give it time, allow fate to decide to take place in your favor. If you rush it, God becomes anger. He simply wants us to know whom is in control," he brushed out her clothing, using his thumb to remove a smudge of dirt from her cheek._

_"Do you believe in God?" she asked, shoving his hand away._

_"Certainly," he said, holding her at her tiny shoulders. "He is a cruel God, but He is there none-the-less. And never say otherwise, or He might damn you to hell. And angels do not belong in hell... That is why you will rise."_

_She smiled brightly, stretching out her arms in an open invitation to him. And with a chuckle, he complied, entering her arms to accept her weak hug. "That is why you will rise as well," she mumbled into his neck, placing a chaste kiss there and pulling back._

_He held her gaze for a long while, sitting in awe of the creature before him. Despite her small stature and meager looks, she was a symbol of beauty and courage in his eyes. She was his source of reasoning, the holder of his heart. Her maintained innocence in the hell they lived in was what gave him pride in life. His heart lifted with meaning when he presented protection to the small person within his arms. Never before had anything depended on him, and the feeling that consumed him the first time she had cried for him when in fear was a rapterous moment of emotions._

_Yet when she entered his life, fear accompanied her. He had never feared for his life, and never would. Yet apprehension filled his chest each time they left their cell. He knew his power, what he was capable of. He knew that with ease, he could snap a man's neck, or take on a small mob of men. Knew that men looked upon him with fear, stepping out of his way in haste when he approached._

_They allowed him first pickings at the small amounts of food lowered down into the pit, aware that even a side glance could get them killed. They feared his power, his ability, his hidden rage._

_Yet when he had the child, they knew he was vulnerable. And they saw the caution that fogged his eyes. Yet rage accompanied his fear, and they stepped away and let him be._

_Bane gathered her into his arms, pressing her close to him as he slowly approached the ropes. The men had departed, none attempting to climb after the death of the prisoner. They had lingered in the shadows until the platform had cleared entirely, and had moved forward with haste._

_He pulled her from himself, lifting her small frame onto the ledge. She clutched a piece of his clothing, waiting patiently for him to climb up onto the ledge as well._

_"Do not be afraid, my child," he said as he pulled himself up beside her. "We will make it out today. This day was meant for you and I. This day was meant for us to rise," he said quietly, producing strips of fabric from inside his robes._

_"I have no fear, brother," she said cheerfully, waiting for him to bind her to his frame, so they could climb together. "Because God is a god of rage, but we are angels, and we are meant to rise."_

* * *

**I know Bane is a little... Well, I don't know how to put it. He's a difficult character to write, but I am trying to portray him as an intelligent man raised in hell. He will be selfish, he will be evil. But I believe that's how he should be. He loves Talia entirely, but I believe sometimes he needs to have his own opinion, to defy her as much as he loves her. **

**And no... They have never had sex...**


	3. To Die By Your Side

**You guys have been spoiled, considering it was a three day weekend. But due to the fact that I am a full time college student, updates will not be this frequent anymore. :( Thank you so much for all of your lovely feedback, though! **

**Enjoy!**

**I do not own them. *Sobs***

* * *

~ To Die By Your Side ~

_"The explanation is simple. Their souls are bound, and with that comes the inability to be separated physically."_

_Henry Ducard sighed heavily, glancing up at the brooding man sitting before him. He had come seeking the elder man's advice- the advice of Ra's Al Ghul. He had become increasingly concerned with his daughter's attachments to the hulking beast that called himself Bane. At first he had reluctantly ignored her constant need to be with him, yet now it was beginning to wear him thin. _

_"In the darkest hours of the night, I can hear her leave her bedroom and enter his. And before the sun rises, she quietly returns to her own bed, believing her nightly traveling is going unnoticed by me..." he said, arms folded behind his back as he paced before Ra's, his face hardened with frustration. "She's just a child, and if I wasn't so entirely certain that he has not tainted her purity, I wouldn't hesitate to remove his head from his shoulders."_

_Ra's nodded slowly, stroking the thin facial hair that grew lightly above his lip. "Give it time, Ducard... I trust your intuition, and willingly pass management of the beast to you. Consider your actions before placing them," Ra's said slowly, rising from his elegantly made throne, all cherry wood and deep imprint._

_Ducard paused, in thought. "You are giving me... the power to... denounce him?" he asked, looking up at Ra's, his brows furrowed. _

_Ra's Al Ghul took slow strides towards an alter positioned to the eastern corner of the large room. "Your discretion is valued, Henry Ducard... Shall I tell you of a familiar tale?... To better understand your daughter's attachments..." he asked slowly, using a match to light one of the candles of the alter. When he looked over his shoulder, meeting Ducard's expectant gaze, he continued on._

_"Many years ago, there was a man. A man with three daughters... He was a wealthy merchant, a happy father to the lovely girls, yet... Yet he favored his youngest daughter and called her his 'Little Beauty'..." Ra's explained, lighting a second candle, and then a third, continuing as he spoke. "One day, the merchant found himself deep in trials, and left to seek help... Upon the way, the merchant became lost in a vast forest, and found shelter in a dazzling palace. He received food and drink, gifts and a place to rest his head for the night... The following morning, he unintentionally sinned against his host, a hideous beast, and was forced to make a trade, to make amends for his sins..."_

_Ducard faced out a large window, his lips tight as he silently listened to Ra's Al Ghul's tale. His chest felt heavier with every word that left the man's mouth, and he longed to cup his palms over his ears to shut out the sound- to shut out the memories._

_"He traded his daughter to the terrifying creature."_

_"What do you wish me to learn from this?" Ducard snapped, pivoting on his heel to face his fearless leader. He stood enraged, his chest heaving and his hands formed into tight fists, his knuckles turning white with anger._

_Ra's merely stared at him momentarily, his eyes cold and harsh, before he resumed with his tale. "Beauty took her father's stead in the beast's prison, where he become her protector... After a long while, the beast set her free. Yet when she returned to her father, she bore a promise to the beast... A promise that no matter what, she would return to him... And when she did, she discovered him to be nearly dead... The child wept for him, and the touch of her tears to his flesh changed him into a man... For the girl's love for him was pure and innocent, a guiding light in their times of darkness together. And so her love overturned a curse... And the girl remained with the beast..."_

_Ducard placed his hands over his face, the memories playing like slides behind his eyelids. They tormented him relentlessly, causing him sleepless night shifting furiously within his sheets as the images haunted him. His nightly terrors had been of dark beings tearing his young wife from his desperate grip. Faceless beings with monstrous voices and devilish laughs. _

_But now the creature that tormented his dreams had a face._

_Ra's reseated himself within the protection of his cherry wood throne, shutting his eyes to enter deep meditation. _

_"And Beauty never returned to her father again."_

* * *

He had been right.

When they entered the fortress, it had been long abandoned. The wood and brass architecture was blanketed in a thick layer of dust, tables overturned, beds left unmade. The soldiers had fled when news had arrived that the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul had failed, abandoning the fortress to the spirits that lingered in the mountains.

"They were afraid," Talia said, lifting a lit match to view into a dark, abandoned bedroom. Drawers were pulled open, articles of lost clothing hanging loosely from the corners, a few idling on the floor. Whomever had dwelt there before and ran fiercely, leaving a wake of mess behind them.

"They believe that the League has diminished, with the assumption of your demise," he said, his voice a deep metallic call in the dark. "They are cowards, and dare they return, you shall properly punish them."

"Yes," she nodded, following the sounds of his heavy breathing until she bumped into his large frame.

"Cling to me," he demanded roughly, catching her wrist and wrapping it around his front, pulling her near until her chest pressed into the curve of his lower back. "I will find us an oil lamp, to guide us through the darkness."

She clung to him, breathing into the fabric of his thick wool coat. He smelled of a deep earthly musk, a smell that she had memorized many years ago. "My eyes no longer conform to the darkness," she said, staring out into the blackness that enveloped them, shuffling along behind his as he sought light.

"You have spent too long living in a false reality," he responded. "And you have forgotten from where you came, from where you once flourished."

She listened as his hand bumped into a metal object, clanking loudly through the silence. He lit a match, dropping it into the glass case of the lamp he had found, thrown lazily across a shelf in the main hall of the fortress.

Yet when the light flooded the room, she did not release him from her grasp, instead pulling herself tighter against his broad frame. She felt his body turn rigid at the tight contact, felt his heart skip a beat against her palm when she pressed her thigh between the back of his legs, curling her leg around the front of his sturdy calve.

"I have not forgotten from where I came," she whispered, her voice seeping into his back. "Nor will I ever."

He said nothing as he pulled her hands away from his chest, lifting his leg from her lock and stepping away. She could see in his hardened expression that he furiously battled with himself, keeping his eyes from her frame.

"It's far from over, my friend," she said, watching as he rounded the hall, heading back to the section of the fortress that held the living quarters.

He didn't pause, not even for a moment, to consider her words. He simple moved forward, expecting her to follow- to which she did, faithfully. That was when it hit her, the realization. She had always lived with the comfort of knowing that despite everything else happening ruthlessly throughout the corners of the world, Bane would follow her to her demise. Yet now, she realized, that it was quite the opposite. It was her own inability to be separated from him. She followed him.

"Bane," she said, following him into her old bedroom. It was a grand room, consisting of a large bed with four posts made of deep stained maple wood and silk sheets imported from Europe, and a glass vanity that nearly touched the fifteen foot high ceilings. Her furnishing, made of various velvets sat beneath the protection of crisp, white sheets, along with her oil paintings that smelled of moist earth. A deep fireplace pressed into the wall opposite of the bed had logs already prepared in it, left there in case Talia ever decided to find her way home.

"Bane," she repeated, looking up at the hulking man. He was a large figure, illuminated by the solitary source of light resting in his palms. The mask around his face cast frightening shadows across her bedroom walls, his thick breathing the only thing filling the air besides the dust and faint roar of wind beating against the walls of the fortress. "I apologize for what I said... in the mountains..."

He finally turned to look at her, and it was an appraising moment as each studied the other. A slick of cold sweat formed across the curve of her back at the look lingering in his dark eyes. The dim light contrasted the curves of his strong boned face, his deep eyes that told of many tales of woe.

"It was unfair of me," she continued, holding his hard gaze. "Considering your past actions of constant loyalty..."

He watched her with hallow eyes, his frame idling beside her large bed. There was a long pause, both silent, neither speaking nor spouting long forgotten apologies, neither digging up past sins. The many things that they had done long ago to hurt each other had been forcefully forgotten, buried in the past, both unwilling to allow each hurt to resurface. They were souls of pensive affliction, ruling the nations of calamity. They were human, despite the world's disagreement. They felt hunger, the felt fatigue, loneliness and subtle contentment.

But above all, they felt hurt.

"I am your equal, and you are mine," she said, slowly approaching him in the dark. "I cannot say that of the rest of all existence. You are my brother, my deliverance from hell..." she reached out and caught his wrist, grasping it within the cold lock of her hand. A rendering longing for him welled up in her rest, rising high and tight within her throat. "You were once my father, once my brother... Tonight, lay with me... as that of a lover."

And as though instinct, she lowered her hand to his, grasping it with much difficulty, due to the contrast in size. But she lifted it, cupping his palm around the curve of her shoulder so that she could gently run her hand from his elbow up to his wrist, savoring the feeling of long forgotten skin. "Take what it rightfully yours..."

He allowed her to guide his body, despite the caution that leeked into his dark eyes.

She guided his fingers- he found himself a puppet to her touch- and pressed the tips deep into her skin, against a knot of scar tissue beneath the surface of the flesh of her back. A look of remembrance contorted his once calm expression as he slowly rubbed the familiar scar. The moment drew out, each passing second increasing the weight our her lust for him, and it became nearly unbearable as she stared up into his face.

Bane's eyes underwent a startling, prismatic series of expressions; soft with disillusionment, his brows then creasing with a near nauseated aversion and finally, every muscle tightened with an inward battle. He quickly removed his hand, recoiling from her as though in pain, and turned away.

"No. Let us simply rest tonight," he bellowed, his back to her as he walked away, lighting up the fireplace. "For tomorrow we will reign once more. As saviors of justice."

They remained silent as they stripped down to their under garments, Bane finding a pair of loose fitting pants, and they crawled into her large bed together. She had tucked herself comfortably against his side, and he allowed her, despite her previous request.

The fire cracked and flickered, enveloping the room in a soft warm, hue of red and gold, casting comforting shadows across the walls. It had not taken long for the air to become thick with heat, a luxury that Bane had not felt in a long while. And in the gentle silence between them, their thoughts had drifted away from their current reality.

Talia's thoughts wandered through the vast expanses of her mind, to their recent past- and the people they had left in it. There were few things she was certain of in her life, few things that were dependable. But the man whom she laid beneath her sheets with, in the most innocent of ways, was her anchor, the cornerstone of her life. And she was glad of that.

"How did you escape?... After you left," his voice broke the silence, a welcomed disturbance of the empty air. He shifted slightly to better grasp her, resting his massive palm over the rise of her hip. He had sat quietly, with his head slightly propped upon one of the many cushions of her bed to stare into the flames that licked high and strong.

"A cap," she said, rising her head against his chest to show him her mouth, gesturing to a tooth with the tip of her slick tongue. "containing a compound that produced the appearance of death."

He chuckled lightly, the near-machine noise a sound for bleeding ears. "So naive they are. Quick to accept flawless victory."

She nodded in agreement, the end result merely being her rubbing her cheek to his bare chest. She savored the feeling of his rough flesh against her cheek and longed to outstretch her tongue and taste him. But she fought it and simply pressed a chaste kiss to it.

They fell silence once more. He mindlessly pulled at the ends of her hair, wrapping loose strands around his thick fingers and tugging gently. She shut her eyes to the feeling, forcing back her dire needs.

"Would you like to know the moment..." she paused, inhaling sharply with pleasure when he tugged gently at the hairs at the back of her neck. "... that I knew I had failed?" she questioned softly, and when he didn't answer, she proceeded. "It was when I left you..." she whispered, looking up at him. He was a gorgeous beast in the fire light. "... knowing I would not die by your side."

* * *

_Often enough, Bane found himself sitting in awe of Talia. Her stubborn demeanor and the brutality of her soul, her desires, was inconceivable to the unknowing. She was a girl raised in the deep recesses of hell, and upon first glance, that fact was hidden behind doe-like eyes and delicate features. _

_He had raised her in constant protection, carefully instructing her on how to pull on a mask of pride and brashness- the few things that would keep her alive while living in the Pit. It had been a constant game of survival, and Bane had taught her all of the rules. He taught to her to carry herself like a male, to distort her speech into a far more masculine tone than her usual pitch, and on occasion, to order him about. He made himself an example to the rest of the prisoners, allowing himself submission to the child- showing all else that he belonged to her. _

_"Bane... Bane..." her voice drifted through the air, a slight hiss to her tone as she attempted to whisper as quietly as possible. "Bane... Bane, wake up... Bane."_

_He sighed heavily, feeling a deep compression against his chest, a weight bearing down on his ribs. When he inhaled, the weight lifted, and when he exhaled, it lowered. Her body was warm, sprawled across his chest, yet her bones dug painfully into his skin, her ribs grinding against his with each breath they took. He felt her shift against him, her knees curled into the hallow of his hips, her arms folded lazily across his collar bone. _

_"I know you're awake," she muttered, sighing in childish irritation. "I can see you looking around beneath your eyelids."_

_He fought a smile, and continued to fake his slumber, making faint noises resembling a snore. He was not quite ready to rise and face the day, physically and mentally exhausted from the previous day's climb._

_It had not been their day to rise. Instead, Talia had found fear halfway up, clinging desperately to him, digging her nails into his chest. She had pleaded that they return to the ground, sobbing miserably into his shoulder blades. Bane's heart had sunk into his chest, looking up to the welcoming sunlight, before slowly climbing back down. _

_A small mass of men had formed at the base, beckoned by her terrified cries that had lightly echoed through the pit. They had stared up at them with hungry eyes, a few of them muttering in foreign languages about the man called Bane that kept the child to himself, selfish and unwilling to share._

_When Bane had reached the bottom, most of the men had quickly backed away, a few scrambling back to their cells. But three new arrivals had stepped forward, grasping at the child that was bound to his back. Her fingers had dug deep into his skin, her heels hooking into his hips when the men attempted to pull her away from him. Talia had bit into his back to resist her shriek, remembering that Bane had told her never to scream when he was with her- afraid that her pitch would give her gender away._

_Bane had spun around, grasping the prisoners' hands and snapping their wrists before returning to their cell. The prisoners' cries of agony had continued until Bane and Talia had already settled back within their meek abode. _

_They would rise. Just not today._

_"Bane."_

_His eyes snapped open at the feeling of her teeth digging into the flesh of his chin, her mouth cupping the entire curve of his face. "Christ!" he cried, feeling her release quickly. He sat up, catching her behind the knees when she nearly slipped off of his chest. "You little animal," he muttered, rubbing his chin where she had left teeth indention's._

_"Sorry," she whispered, staring down into her lap. "It was an accident."_

_He scoffed lightly, amused with her adolescence. "All is well, my dear child," he said, brushing his palm across the soft hair upon her skull. "It's getting long once again. Let us go down to the pool and bathe and cut this off."_

_She reached her small hands up to feel her hair, admiring the silk-like feel of it. She continued to pet her own skull, shutting her eyes and smiling slightly. "Look, Bane. I'm a kitten," she chirped, humming quietly, trying to purr as Bane had once taught her to do. _

_"You most certainly are," he smiled, petting her hair lightly as well before lifting her off his lap and rising from their cot. _

_They spent the cool Autumn day down in the prison 'showers', where faint streams of water raced through the crevices of the Pit's walls, pooling in murky puddles scattered along the filthy ground. Talia had tugged him along by the hand, eagerly pulling ahead until Bane's grip was the only thing that kept her from falling forward with her straining._

_She had stripped down to simply loose pants, presenting herself entirely bare before skipping over to a pool of water. Her small hand closed around the pool, scooping up as much as her palms could contain before throwing it hastily across her skull. It sifted lazily through the small length of hair coating her head, running in solitary drops down the back of her pale neck. _

_With the large pad of his thumb, Bane brushed a single drop away that had slowly danced down the bony plains of her back. Her skin was soft, and he always found himself bewildered by this fact. The fact that her femininity survived the hell they dwelt in, that her small hands remained delicate, her skin maintaining it's feel of silk. Some nights, as they laid silently within their cot, he would slowly rub his palm against the length of her neck. Because he admired her softness, and she admired his coarseness._

_He scrubbed the mire from her small, meager body, watching as the water ran dark down her legs. Hidden beneath the filth, he freed the small lonesome mark the rose from the skin of her forehead, kissing it tenderly when he wiped away the filth. She smiled and cupped his face in her small hands._

_"Kiss my eyes, Bane," she whispered, her lashes fluttering shut. "They hurt."_

_He chuckled and obeyed, pressing soft kisses to the tiny skin casing her glassy eyes. "Why do they hurt, my child?" he asked, turning her frame away from him before standing up. He wiped the blade of his knife against his clothing before lifting it to her hairline, and gently began shaving back the hair._

_"Because they long to see you in the sunshine, Bane. Because you belong there, up above."_

_He smiled faintly, taken back by the sudden sorrow that consumed him, overshadowing his usual contentment instantly. She was a young child, yet carried an old soul within. Inside, her soul surpassed her body in maturity, and he was deeply depressed by that. Because she was meant to dwell in the morning light, climbing blossoming cherry trees and singing ballads of love and triumph. Because he was meant to wait beside the tree, arms outstretched to catch her if she plummeted from the branches. Because he was meant to free her from their hell._

_"I belong with you," he whispered back, shaving the last of her hair away. "Where you go, I will go. What you do, I will do. When you die..." his voice lowered as he turned her to face him, staring down into the universe that dwelt within her eyes. _

_"Then I will have permission to die."_

* * *

**Oh, PLEASE leave me feedback! I would love you forever! :D**


	4. Secrets

**Hey guys... It's been a little while, hasn't it? :( Sorry. I've been bombarded with school, working, and tons of other stuff. I haven't had time to produce an entire chapter, so here's something to hold you guys over until I can get one written and posted.**

**Anyways, thank you guys for hanging around! All of your lovely feedback is so appreciated! :)**

**All beings dwelling within the lovely Nolanverse do not belong to me. :(**

* * *

Gordon silently shuffled through paper work, spreading folders across his desk. The sun beat down against his back, sifting in through the wide office windows, illuminating the dust particles dancing through the air.

A knock erupted the silence, and Gordon allowed entrance.

A young officer stepped in, a small stack of folders cradled against his chest. "I have all of the background files on the late Miranda Tate, Commissioner," he said, glancing down at his files.

"And?"

The officer quickly flipped through a few pages. "And her name was not legally Miranda Tate... Her name was Talia Al Ghul... Date of birth is unknown, country of birth unknown, parents unknown..." he paused, turning a page. "I was able to dig up a few medical files from a month before Gotham was freed... When she perished, she was... Well, maybe you should look..." he said, slipping the page free from the stack and placing it on the desk.

Gordon picked it up, placing his glasses over his nose. With a sigh, he began reading along the result.

His reading ceased, frozen upon one word that stood out. One word that changed everything.

_Pregnant._

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**Gah! Please don't kill me! I'm sorry to leave you hanging like this... Haha But I hope you guys will enjoy the turn of events! :)**  
**Love you all!**


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